A Weekend in Paramaribo

New Orleans could be a sister city of Paramaribo. Photo by Arun Kuchibhotla on Unsplash

In town, all the buildings had wrought iron balconies. We walked along cobblestone streets. I wore shorts and got stared at for being young, female, and under-dressed. Funny how hot climates have such conservative dress codes. I wore jeans the next day.

We did a bike tour. We cycled for hours on red clay roads, alongside canals and fields. I fell in love with the guide, ten or more years my elder, his bronze skin glistening in the sun, pedaling almost entirely hands-free.

Years later, in New Orleans, I was blasé. It smelled of urine and the salty mud of the Mississippi.